Entangled In Mist
by Sydella
Summary: The Sky and his Mists will always be bound to each other. Mukuro x Chrome x Tsuna


They are wrapped up in each other, so wrapped up in each other that it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Some nights, he strokes her hair until she falls asleep, and even in her dreams, she can feel him watching her. She may never tell him, but that tender, protective gaze of his, the one he reserves for her and (less obviously) Tsuna, is more of a turn-on than any other trick he employs when they're making love. And then, of course, there are the times when their roles are reversed, and _she _is the one soothing him to sleep. She loves how he's not afraid to show her his vulnerable side. Mukuro Rokudo, literal hell spawn, is surprisingly kind and gentle when he allows himself to be.

M.M. plays mournful tunes on that clarinet of hers, and Chrome knows that the redhead is pining for what she perceives to be a lost love, hopelessly destroyed by another female-the "other woman", the kind of person poets are always warning lovelorn fools to be wary of. The truth is, though, that fate is a crueller mistress than Chrome herself could ever be, and M.M. is just going to have to live with that.

With the power of illusions, roses can blossom out of thin air. The crimson petals unfold beautifully, and Chrome watches in silent rapture as the miracle of rebirth transforms them into a lotus flower under Mukuro's skilful hands. He presents it to her with a little flourish and a wry smile, as if to say _Here you go. An unusual gift, one that no decent mortal would offer their lover, but I am neither decent nor mortal. _She knows this, and the little thrill in her heart somehow matches the delicious irony in his smile, the shadows lurking in his wonderfully mismatched eyes.

Once, when her mother was still holding on to a small shred of decency-a very small one, mind you, no bigger than a scrap of paper-Chrome had listened attentively as the words of a fairy tale were spewed forth by that vile woman. Belle saved the Beast with beauty and purity, Chrome's mother snapped as she closed the children's book with a forceful thud. You'd better not hold out hope for such a happy ending, Nagi, you useless little good-for-nothing. Now be a good girl and go to sleep.

Later, as Chrome did her best to tune out the unmistakable sounds of her mother fucking a faceless, nameless man half to death, she lay in bed and wondered if she would ever find a Beast of her own. Nagi was no princess. She had no friends, no relatives except her mother, no one to rely on. Her mind full of troubled thoughts, she drifted off to sleep and had dreams in which a handsome young man gazed at her contemplatively, his face partially obscured by mist. She woke up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding. Stumbling to the nearest washroom, she splashed water on her face and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was on the cusp of something that would change her life forever. The very next day, the accident happened, and for all the wisdom she had gained from looking after an irresponsible, flighty mother, she could never have seen it coming.

He came for her then. Her Beast. That cold, beguiling smile of his pulled her out of her coma (not one but _two_ fairy tales, imagine that!) and she followed him without hesitation. There was Ken, well-meaning Ken with his clumsy, earnest way of showing affection, but Mukuro had lured her into the enchanted castle of a new life and there was no turning back.

So they danced, like a princess and her besotted captor. The Mafia arrived with pitchforks and flaming torches, but no matter, for the leader of the Beast-hunters smiled, golden eyes shining like the flames that surrounded him, and granted them mercy. Somehow, she isn't surprised, because when does anything ever happen without the universe making it so? And everything goes back to Tsuna as it always does, the three of them sitting quietly in a dark room without any of them saying a single word out loud, because all their conversations take place within their interconnected minds while others peer at them in confusion. Then, when the night is still young, there will be a kiss here, a pat on the head there, and Mukuro reclines on his bed as he embraces them both.

My sweet Chrome, Mukuro calls her. Sweet indeed. The sugar within his words, the venom and bloody legacy in the Mafia's veins, the honey of Tsuna's eyes-all of these things combine into tendrils of mist that embrace her and carry her away into a burning sunset that will be the end of her. But she'll be damned if she can think of a more beautiful way to die.

In the meantime, she shall enjoy a glass of wine offered by Mukuro-_the nectar of the gods_, he says, again with that wry smile-and watch Tsuna stand silhouetted against the warm glow of morning, his brow furrowed and round innocent face awash in the mist of love and sleep.


End file.
